Intrusion © March 1989 Jacquelene Martina. Told in 6 chapters, I create routine, to control it, but I get curious, and ask: What about an intrusion? Warning: Contains passages, some might find upsetting.
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The dead field basks in the hot midday sun. There is no wind. It is suffocatingly hot and this is how I want it. No more intrusions. Even the black bird will not dare to enter this hell I have created. I have found a traveller who I want to present with these extreme conditions. He will pay for the anger I am feeling after my great victory. My wrath is strong. The small man sits on the dead grass. He is immobile. His dark naked skin is burnt, and he feels it. His lips are perched, his throat dry, his eyes hurt, his head pounds and pounds. He has no where to hide from the blazing, killer sun. His flesh bakes and bakes. Only the woods can bring him comfort, but he knows too well not to venture therein. Beside him on the ground now lies another man, taller, slimmer. This man quickly jumps to his feet. His body is naked as well, quickly soaking up the merciless rays of the sun. He jumps up and down, preventing his feet to burn on the hot sand. He now sees the small man sitting motionless on the burning ground. He quickly hops over to him. He is looking down on the man and his facial expression of that of horror.
'Are you mad?' he screams out.
'Don't you feel the burning heat?'
The other does not respond. The tall man gives the other a push. The small man falls quietly onto his back. Still trying to keep his feet from touching the burning ground, the tall man rolls the other man unto his stomach. Then he quickly jumps unto the small man's back, just to jump as quickly back off again. The pain is clearly visible on his face, as his body now starts cooking from the heat. Blister appear and burst. Appear and burst. His feet are raw now and the tall man falls down to the ground and remains there, motionless, waiting. Both bodies lie baking in the sun. Nowhere to hide, save the woods. Neither thinks of going there, neither can. Suddenly, both men stir. But not out of themselves. It is the ground below them that is moving, shaking them to and fro. The ground trembles, shakes, stirs. The men rock to its motions and they fall flat to the hot ground. The ground stops moving. That is enough. The men sit up. Bewildered, they search their bodies. Their eyes racing across their flesh. The blisters! Their blisters are gone! The scorching heat is gone. They sit quietly, as if waiting for the agony to resume. As motionless as they sat when the field was transformed into a burning furnace, as motionless they sit now, waiting. The grass beneath them emerges out of the earth, green and wet from the dew. Very quickly, the whole field is green once more. The wind plays gently with the tall grass, the insects buzz and fly and stir, clouds smooth the warm, yet settle sun rays. Behind them, the wooden house stands erect. Doors open, inviting. 'What is this place?' The tall man finally spoke. Odd. He ought to know. Suddenly, there is a loud bang, startling both men. The wind, playing with the front door slams it shut. The sound goes echoing over the green valley. The men stare at each other. The small one gets up.
'Do you think it is worth trying? The door's shut. Can we get in, you think?'
'I don't know.'
'Weird. I can still feel the pain, even though the blisters are gone. Are you feeling...'.
'Well, a slight pain. Not really a pain.'
'We landed straight into Hell itself. And now, it seems over.' 'I feel a bit uneasy. I just don't know what to expect next. We're obviously locked out. What if the heat returns? What are we to do then?'
The small man is silent. He looks across the open field, towards the woods.
'Do you think our salvation lies there?' The tall man says. I wait.
'No. We'll perish there. Surely. You know this.'
'Yes and here we cook on the outside and remain raw inside. I rather perish.'
The small dark man looks at his companion with fearful eyes. He backs away from the tall man and he turns for the house. Moving as fast as he can, he heads towards the house. He pulls at the knob, but the door is locked. He tries and treks again. He does not succeed in getting the door to open.
'I'm being punished for your foolishness,' he cries out all of a sudden. The tall man appears not to notice or hear him. His eyes are set on the horizon: the woods. The small man bangs like a mad person on the closed door. He bangs and bangs, leaving trace of blood and flesh on the smoking door.
'NO!' he exclaims. 'No! It is starting all over again!'
He dashes to meet the other.
'It is starting all over again. The heat is returning!'
'Look,' says the tall man. 'A bird. There, among the trees. It's a bird.'
'Are you mad? Aren't you feeling it?' the small man cries. 'The heat, it's returning. Look at the grass. It's dead, scorched. It's happening again, can't you see it?'
'Look at the bird. Can't you see the bird? Look, there!'
'I see no bird, you fool. Damn it! The house, it's going up in flames! The house is burning!'
'You don't see the bird? Look closely. To your left. There it is! Don't you see the orange feathers?'
There falls a complete silence across the field.
'It's what? They're not orange!'
'Yes they are, look. And yellow, and red, and white and blue.'
'There is no bird. You're lying. I'm not going into those woods. Liar!'
The tall man turns to meet the small one.
'And I don't feel any heat, I see no burning house. You are the liar. I'm not heading for the woods either. You can't trick me.'
Something went wrong. Neither makes the move. Both men stare with dead eyes at the other. Neither speaks, neither moves. Not because they are not able to, but because it is now pointless.
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FOUR
This is my ultimate attempt. I no longer have patience. I no longer tolerate intrusion on my domain. Taking renders you the power to create according to your own shallowness, own inadequacies. That is what this is all about. I have been made the fool for too long. I am no longer waiting for it to manifest itself. It will not appear again. I know this to be certain. It is pointless to introduce any more travellers. You take what you believe you need, who will serve you, and serve you well. It has been disappointing the past few creations. I am saying that it is finished. This is exactly what I am saying. It is pointless. Whatever I seem to create backfires. You focus on destruction of something you yourself have created. If you go back to the beginning, note your boredom, note your dissatisfaction with your creation, note your own limitations. Only then can you set about achieving real victory. I am thinking back on how it all started, it has been quite some while. Time had even lost itself. Something was missing. I was dissatisfied. Hungry. The bird is not real. It is a creation like all other. The bird is real. It abides within the woods. Those evil woods are meant to bring me down. Stop your manipulations, you might then truly create. The plain is meant for peace and serenity. The house is meant for shelter. But is it really necessary? If a traveller comes into the valley, he is unaware of any disturbances. He is at peace, he is serene. I can not have this. No one will be at peace, not until I have achieved my peace.The dead field basks in the hot midday sun. There is no wind. It is suffocatingly hot and this is how I want it. No more intrusions. Even the black bird will not dare to enter this hell I have created. I have found a traveller who I want to present with these extreme conditions. He will pay for the anger I am feeling after my great victory. My wrath is strong. The small man sits on the dead grass. He is immobile. His dark naked skin is burnt, and he feels it. His lips are perched, his throat dry, his eyes hurt, his head pounds and pounds. He has no where to hide from the blazing, killer sun. His flesh bakes and bakes. Only the woods can bring him comfort, but he knows too well not to venture therein. Beside him on the ground now lies another man, taller, slimmer. This man quickly jumps to his feet. His body is naked as well, quickly soaking up the merciless rays of the sun. He jumps up and down, preventing his feet to burn on the hot sand. He now sees the small man sitting motionless on the burning ground. He quickly hops over to him. He is looking down on the man and his facial expression of that of horror.
'Are you mad?' he screams out.
'Don't you feel the burning heat?'
The other does not respond. The tall man gives the other a push. The small man falls quietly onto his back. Still trying to keep his feet from touching the burning ground, the tall man rolls the other man unto his stomach. Then he quickly jumps unto the small man's back, just to jump as quickly back off again. The pain is clearly visible on his face, as his body now starts cooking from the heat. Blister appear and burst. Appear and burst. His feet are raw now and the tall man falls down to the ground and remains there, motionless, waiting. Both bodies lie baking in the sun. Nowhere to hide, save the woods. Neither thinks of going there, neither can. Suddenly, both men stir. But not out of themselves. It is the ground below them that is moving, shaking them to and fro. The ground trembles, shakes, stirs. The men rock to its motions and they fall flat to the hot ground. The ground stops moving. That is enough. The men sit up. Bewildered, they search their bodies. Their eyes racing across their flesh. The blisters! Their blisters are gone! The scorching heat is gone. They sit quietly, as if waiting for the agony to resume. As motionless as they sat when the field was transformed into a burning furnace, as motionless they sit now, waiting. The grass beneath them emerges out of the earth, green and wet from the dew. Very quickly, the whole field is green once more. The wind plays gently with the tall grass, the insects buzz and fly and stir, clouds smooth the warm, yet settle sun rays. Behind them, the wooden house stands erect. Doors open, inviting. 'What is this place?' The tall man finally spoke. Odd. He ought to know. Suddenly, there is a loud bang, startling both men. The wind, playing with the front door slams it shut. The sound goes echoing over the green valley. The men stare at each other. The small one gets up.
'Do you think it is worth trying? The door's shut. Can we get in, you think?'
'I don't know.'
'Weird. I can still feel the pain, even though the blisters are gone. Are you feeling...'.
'Well, a slight pain. Not really a pain.'
'We landed straight into Hell itself. And now, it seems over.' 'I feel a bit uneasy. I just don't know what to expect next. We're obviously locked out. What if the heat returns? What are we to do then?'
The small man is silent. He looks across the open field, towards the woods.
'Do you think our salvation lies there?' The tall man says. I wait.
'No. We'll perish there. Surely. You know this.'
'Yes and here we cook on the outside and remain raw inside. I rather perish.'
The small dark man looks at his companion with fearful eyes. He backs away from the tall man and he turns for the house. Moving as fast as he can, he heads towards the house. He pulls at the knob, but the door is locked. He tries and treks again. He does not succeed in getting the door to open.
'I'm being punished for your foolishness,' he cries out all of a sudden. The tall man appears not to notice or hear him. His eyes are set on the horizon: the woods. The small man bangs like a mad person on the closed door. He bangs and bangs, leaving trace of blood and flesh on the smoking door.
'NO!' he exclaims. 'No! It is starting all over again!'
He dashes to meet the other.
'It is starting all over again. The heat is returning!'
'Look,' says the tall man. 'A bird. There, among the trees. It's a bird.'
'Are you mad? Aren't you feeling it?' the small man cries. 'The heat, it's returning. Look at the grass. It's dead, scorched. It's happening again, can't you see it?'
'Look at the bird. Can't you see the bird? Look, there!'
'I see no bird, you fool. Damn it! The house, it's going up in flames! The house is burning!'
'You don't see the bird? Look closely. To your left. There it is! Don't you see the orange feathers?'
There falls a complete silence across the field.
'It's what? They're not orange!'
'Yes they are, look. And yellow, and red, and white and blue.'
'There is no bird. You're lying. I'm not going into those woods. Liar!'
The tall man turns to meet the small one.
'And I don't feel any heat, I see no burning house. You are the liar. I'm not heading for the woods either. You can't trick me.'
Something went wrong. Neither makes the move. Both men stare with dead eyes at the other. Neither speaks, neither moves. Not because they are not able to, but because it is now pointless.